


The 5 Second Rule

by FaithlessAngel



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 12:50:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10640202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaithlessAngel/pseuds/FaithlessAngel
Summary: There is a rule. Everyone knows. Do not touch John Watson unless completely necessary. Do not touch John Watson for more than 5 seconds. But no one told the new guy, and no one knows how Sherlock will react.





	1. Do Not Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new guy breaks the rule, and Sherlock throws some people.

Everyone at New Scotland Yard knows the rule. "Only touch John when absolutely necessary. And never for more than a few seconds". They knew the rule, and they followed it. Sherlock was the jealous type. Lestrade had seen Sherlock punch a paramedic one day because her hand had strayed too far onto John's lap. No one really knew what would happen, but they didn't dare risk it. Not even Sherlock seemed to touch John often in public, but maybe that was because they were still hiding their relationship. Anyway, the author digresses. The long and the short of it, is no one touches John. Ever, if at all possible. That is until the Yard gets a new guy, and one that everyone forgets to warn. 

|~~|~~|

Sherlock was sulking. This tended to happen at times, but today it was pointed. John has dragged him to a social event, someone's birthday or the like. Sherlock wanted John to know that he was displeased, but his heart wasn't in it. Sherlock had known for a while that his feelings for John had surpassed platonic. He was highly intelligent, and it would have been fairly hard to miss his feelings, he also knew that he was fairly terrible at telling John no. Sherlock had so far managed to keep his feelings hidden, but near enough to the surface that if John wanted to see them, he could, maybe. The man was highly unobservant, and Sherlock had told him he was a sociopath. Sherlock frowned even more. John did not seem to return his feelings. It was disturbing. Lestrade's approach brought him out of his head. 

"We've got a case." Sherlock felt his heart jump for joy. 

"What kind?"

"Double homicide. The room's locked from the inside, and there are no weapons in the room. No windows either. Will you come?" 

"I'll be right behind." Sherlock dashed through the party goers, looking for his John. John. He corrected his thought. No one had seen him. One of the doors was open to the street, and Sherlock stuck his head out. John stood against the wall, a man pressed up next to him, they were touching from thigh to shoulder. Sherlock's blood boiled. Who dared touch John? John was his! Sherlock shook himself. That was a dangerous emotional outburst. He needed to keep himself under control. He could not scare John off. 

"John. There you are. The game is on." John disengaged himself from the man, and they exchanged phone numbers before John went over to Sherlock. Sherlock wanted to kill the unknown man. They would find the body, but there would be no evidence anywhere as to who had killed him. John gave him a peculiar look. Sherlock willed his body to move, but it refused. Finally John touched his arm, and Sherlock unfroze. 

"SHERLOCK." It was obviously not the first time John had said his name. Sherlock hailed a cab, and they were off on the scent of a killer. 

|~~|~~|

Sherlock was mentally berating himself. John was being dull, and he and Sherlock had gotten into a yelling match, which ended when John stormed out. Now Sherlock was sitting alone in the morgue, and the guilt was setting in. Sherlock decided to go find John and apologize, but couldn't find him. When he asked Lestrade, he seemed irritated.

"Zaveri's gone too. I was supposed to have a meeting with him in five minutes." Zaveri. New name, must be the new guy Lestrade had mentioned earlier in the day. Sherlock tore around the Yard, a sinking feeling of wrongness in his chest. He almost didn't stop when he saw the couple in the alley, he almost walked past, until one of the men groaned, and Sherlock stopped. John was being pushed against the wall by a man shorter than Sherlock, with red hair and a cat, mid twenties, likes pop music, IS CURRENTLY KISSING JOHN??? Sherlock's brain checked out, and he moved. The man had his leg between John's, his hands gliding down John's biceps. Sherlock ripped the man from John, throwing him against the opposite wall. The man yelled an expletive, and Sherlock turned his attention to John. The smaller man was panting, and when he looked at Sherlock his eyes dilated. John was panting, and he yelled at Sherlock. 

"What the hell was that?" The other man was up, and holding the side of his head. John looked at him. "Ricard? Are you alright?" 

"Why didn't you tell me you had a boyfriend?" The man asked John, too calmly. The man walked over to John, and kissing his hand. "I guess I'll just have to steal you." The man smiled menacingly at Sherlock and walked away. 

"It's not like that." John protested weakly as the man turned the corner. Sherlock heard Lestrade's voice, and he hauled the man back around the corner. 

"What's going on here Zaveri?" Lestrade asked. The man warily walked up the John and slung an arm around his shoulders, eyes watching Sherlock as he did, challenging him. 

"John and me 'ere were having a grand ol' snog until Mr. Cheekbones here decided to throw me at a wall." Sherlock was seething. Lestrade looked at the man, and felt his stomach drop. No one had told him the rule, and who knows what hell Sherlock would release on the man. Lestrade shook his head, but Sherlock beat him to speaking. 

"John and I will be going now." Sherlock walked to the road and hailed a cab, and John stayed back. Sherlock watched, heart falling, as John apologized to the man, evidently the new officer at Scotland Yard, and finally followed him. 

"221B Baker Street." Sherlock commanded the driver, and John opened his mouth to speak. Sherlock had the irrational and uncontrollable urge to kiss that mouth, claim John as his by writing over the touch of the other man. Erase Ricard Zaveri from John, and replace him with Sherlock. 

"Sherlock, are you alright?" That was not an expected question. The expected question was "why?" the tone was wrong too, caring, nearly loving, it was supposed to be angry John was usually angry when Sherlock did things like this, this was wrong, everything about this was wrong. John touched his leg, he'd slid closer to reach. 

"Sherlock?" Sherlock didn't think before the words came out. 

"He touched you." John looked at him confused. 

"Of course he touched me. We were snogging. You can't snog without touching." 

"He shouldn't be allowed to touch you." The words came out as a growl. 

"That's getting a bit scary now." John noted. They arrived at Baker Street, and John paid the cabbie as Sherlock unlocked the door. John joined him in the entranceway and Sherlock closed the door, emotions in turmoil. 

"Sherlock," John asked, dashing up the stairs after him. "Why are you reacting this way?" They entered the flat and Sherlock slammed John against a wall. He pinned the smaller man there, searching his face for a sign. John's eyes dilated. There it was. Sherlock dropped his voice and leaned down to whisper in John's ear. 

"Because only I should get to touch you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got this idea from a headcanon I read a while back and can't find any more. (If I could give credit where credit is due I would be more than happy). Rated E for later on Frickling and frackling. **Obligatory disclaimer about me owning nothing.****Statement of love for readers.***Random elephant making moose noises.** Yes. I am always like this. Buckle down and enjoy the ride? The next chapter should be up soon! 'Til then my lovelies!


	2. It Comes to This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is straight up porn. That's it. All this is is porn. I'm not sorry.

Sherlock had kissed a grand total of 4 people. 1 had been an experiment, another was forced by the boy, and the other two were for cases. He had always thought of it as a strange practice, a sharing of saliva that was typically supposed to mean something, but with John pinned against the wall, it was all he could think about. He kissed The flesh beneath John's ear, wringing a whimper of surprise from John. There was a sound, and John pushed Sherlock away roughly. Mrs. Hudson was staring at them. She just shook her head and walked out. John was blushing bright red, and looking at Sherlock waiting, for what he didn't know. Sherlock looked down at the ground. 

"I am sorry I should not have acted..." he didn't get anything else out because John moved so close to Sherlock that any words Sherlock had evaporated. John took Sherlock by his lapels, dragging his face downwards. John touched his lips to Sherlock's, and the kiss was far from chaste. Their tounges danced together and Sherlock feared he was going to be addicted-- and very quickly so-- to the taste of John's mouth. John pulled away, and growled in Sherlock's ear. There was a stirring in Sherlock's stomach, and he flipped John so that it was John's back against the wall. He kissed down John's neck, sucking slightly on his Adam's apple. John moaned, and began unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt. John slid his hands under the fabric, and Sherlock shivered under his touch. John broke contact with Sherlock's lips, and kissed Sherlock's surprisingly muscled chest, and when Sherlock reacted loudly to John's ministrations, John sucked a mark into his upper pectoral muscle. Sherlock had his hands under John's shirt, and pulled it up over John's head. They broke contact for a moment and Sherlock got his shirt the rest of the way off. Sherlock kissed the junction between John's neck and shoulder, and took John's flesh into his mouth, then dragged his teeth down John's torso, catching his nipple on the way down to John's waistband. Sherlock frowned at John's still clothed lower half, leaning forward to kiss John's hip as he undid John's belt and pushed his trousers and pants to the floor. Sherlock took John in his mouth, and John babbled something incoherent. Sherlock wanted more. John whimpered when Sherlock's lips disappeared from his cock, but Sherlock's lips on his nearly made up for it. Nearly. Sherlock picked John up by the backs of the thighs and carried him to his room, depositing John on the mattress and attempting to find lube while nearly wrapped around John. He finds it, and slicks his fingers, circling John's hole and pushing a finger in. He pulls his body down John, continuing to work him open. Sherlock takes John into his mouth and times each bob of his head with a brush against John's prostrate. Sherlock takes his mouth off of John, John cries out in protest. Sherlock slicks himself and replaces his fingers with his cock inside John. He slowly begins to push into John. Sherlock is lost in a sea of pleasure. Certainly this is what heaven feels like. He begins to move in and out. This is better than cocaine and cases, this is ecstasy. Sherlock strokes John's length, and finds his prostrate, hoping to bring John to the same ecstasy. John doesn't take long. John spasms and cries out, and Sherlock is soon behind. Sherlock leans over John, and nips at his ear. 

"You are mine." The words are a growl, truthfully almost a snarl. Sherlock pulls out of John, and collapses next to him, pulling John to him. Sherlock is asleep in seconds. 

|~~|~~|

John. 

John. 

John. 

JOHN!!

John is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies! We have reached the porn, because in truth that is all this chapter is. I'm sorry this took longer than expected, I was traveling and had it all written, and then it didn't save and I had to rewrite half of it. Urg. Anyways! The next chapter should be up soon! 'Til then!


	3. With Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is being distant, and John goes on a date.

"Good God Sherlock! I was in the loo!" Sherlock whirls to see John standing there, decidedly not gone. Sherlock relaxes, but only slightly. John is standing uncomfortably against the wall, and refuses to look at him. John is trying to avoid the topic of last night. Why? Is it because he regrets it? Or didn't enjoy it? Sherlock's stomach drops. He thinks over the events of the previous night. Sherlock hadn't asked for consent. That was the most important part of sex and he'd forgotten it. He'd effectively raped John. John hadn't stopped him, but that didn't mean he agreed either. Sherlock dropped his head into his hands. 

"John, I am so sorry if I pushed you." When there is no response Sherlock looks up to where John had been standing. John is gone. How long has it been? Sherlock checks the clock. Nearly an hour. No wonder John is gone. Sherlock walks into the living room, to see John asleep in his chair, tea sitting next to him growing cold. Sherlock's eyes catch on his mouth. What Sherlock wouldn't give to kiss those lips again, feel John's body against his, worship his war torn frame. Sherlock shakes himself, snapping away from that line of thought. It can't happen again. It CAN'T. Sherlock needs to discuss it with John, apologize, maybe even try to court John, but until John clarifies that it was alright, and that it would be alright again, Sherlock has to refrain from doing anything like it. Sherlock gathers up his feelings, the ones he's let himself have, and stuffs them into a box in the back of his mind palace. He locks the box, the door, the wing, he shuts it away. Sherlock feels nothing. He cuts the feelings away. 

|~~|~~|

John is not happy. Far from it in fact. Sherlock has been avoiding him. It isn't like Sherlock has just disappeared, no, Sherlock has just been, distant. He has rushed out of the room nearly every time John enters it, or has killed any conversation that John tries to start with curt, yet not hateful, responses. John hasn't even had the chance to yell at him for roughing up Ricard. Sherlock really had no place in doing that, especially when John had been kissing him of his own free will. Then there was the matter of the night. John would have almost thought he dreamed it if Sherlock hadn't nearly shut down. Every barrier John has painstakingly torn down in his time here is back up and stronger than before. The only solution it seems is to act as if everything is normal, and slowly begin to coax Sherlock out of his shell. Again. With this theory in mind, when he receives a text from Ricard Zaveri asking him to go out for drinks, John accepts. 

|~~|~~|

John's gone. He's gone on a date with that man. The dam in Sherlock's heart breaks. It hurts. John's gone on a date with another man, and it hurts. Granted Sherlock has been distant, but still. Sherlock feels tears on his cheeks, and screams at himself. "Sentiment is not an advantage! Love is a weakness!" He leaves the flat. He needs to see. 

John is sitting on a barstool next to Zaveri. They're on their third or fourth drink, and Zaveri is leaning closer to John. There is an offer made, and John's eyes widen slightly, and then he accepts. The offer. Pain becomes all Sherlock knows. John accepted the offer. John accepted the offer. John accepted the offer. John accepted. Sherlock needs to stop feeling, he needs to cut the pain out he needs to disguise the hurt and betrayal he feels. He stumbles forward, and knocks into John. John leaving hand in hand with Zaveri. 

"Sherlock?" John asks looking at him. There's anger there then. "You're stalking me on dates again?" John is yelling. 

"John." Sherlock manages to choke. 

"Go home. Go home Sherlock." John leaves, and Sherlock watches him. Watches John and Zaveri get into a cab, watches them relax into eachother, watches John kiss Zaveri. Sherlock needs to stop feeling. He can't convince his mind to stop. Stop feeling. Stop it. "You're making me feel. I don't like it. Stop!" Sherlock screams at the dark, empty street. Stop feeling. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies! This fic is both delightful and impossible to write. Anyways. I should have another chapter up very soon, so 'too then!


	4. Go Seek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft, Lestrade and John lost their Sherl. They try and find.

"Go home. Go home Sherlock." John leaves, and Sherlock watches him. Watches John and Zaveri get into a cab, watches them relax into eachother, watches John kiss Zaveri. Sherlock needs to stop feeling. He can't convince his mind to stop. Stop feeling. Stop it. "You're making me feel. I don't like it. Stop!" Sherlock screams at the dark, empty street. Stop feeling. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop! 

John was not happy. He'd woken up in another man's bed, alone. He was currently doing the walk of shame, and he didn't have the money to hail a cab. He didn't even have his wallet on him. He was just getting back to Baker Street, turning the corner, and he stopped dead in his tracks. Several patrol cars were pulled haphazardly on the curb by John's door. He ran, fearing, well, to be honest with himself, he didn't know what. Donovan looked at him like he was the worst kind of regurgitated bile on her shoe. Anderson looked at him like he'd killed someone. John dashed inside, up the stairs and into the flat. Ms. Hudson was puttering around the flat worriedly, and Lestrade was slumped in Sherlock's chair. He flew to his feet when he saw John. 

"Where's Sherlock?"

"Isn't he here? What's going on?"

"Mycroft himself woke me this morning telling me that Sherlock's dropped off the map. I can't find him, his phone is here, and Mycroft's given me two days to find him or I'm sacked. Did you have a row?"

John looked back at the night before, guiltily. 

"It would've been better if we had. We've got to go find him." Lestrade shook his head. We've checked all of the hideouts and we're checking every drug den we know of."

"How did Mycroft know Sherlock's gone? It hasn't even been 12 hours since I last saw him."

"I know the danger signs." John turned around to see the umbrella wielding Holmes standing against the wall. "Let's get to work."

|~~|~~|

John slumped in his chair, contemplating the food in front of him. They'd run around London, tried to contact the homeless network, everything. There was no sign of Sherlock. 

"We may not find Sherlock if he doesn't want to be found."

|~~|~~|

John had needed to get out. Mycroft and Lestrade had been yelling at eachother, and John had gotten sick of it. He'd advised, in a very loud voice, that the two "Get a room!" and stormed out of the flat. That's when he'd found, nearly run into really, a man twitching, and violently so. The man's form was emaciated, and his bare forearms showed needle scars and many red welts and broken capillaries from scratching at the welts. The man's eyes sat deep in hollows, and his pupils were pin pricks. He was looking for a fix. John dropped back and followed the man with a bit of distance. He turned several corners, and ducked into an abandoned, condemned building. John followed. The drug den was too clean to have been there long. Forms lay on piles of rags. John walked through the building, looking at faces, searching. A figure ran at him from one end of the hallway. John dodged him, falling over a nearly comatose man on the floor to avoid the running man. The man John landed on opened his eyes. The eyes snapped to a half focus, and the man sat up, looking at John. 

"Jawn?" Sherlock's voice was slurring, and his eyes held the loopy barely able to concentrate look of the heavily sedated. John pulled Sherlock to his feet, Sherlock practically laid on John, and John nearly carried him, and the two left. 

|~~|~~|

It had taken forever to get back to the flat. Cabs wouldn't take them, and John had had to drag Sherlock. He pulled the tall genius up the stairs and through the door, and slumped against the wall. In his living room stood two men. An umbrella laid at their feet, their shirts were untucked and they were looking rather guiltily at John and the unconscious Sherlock. John rolled his eyes, then pointed to the heap of clothing at his feet. 

"I found him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm redefining what soon means. It seems to mean "in a week or two" I'm sorry. I'll try and be better. Next chapter up soon! 'Til then my lovelies!


	5. Words Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock acts very differently than a high person. (I think? I have no experience in that area and therefore no clue). Let's be real. This is just porn. That's it. Just porn.

John unceremoniously kicked Lestrade and Mycroft out of the flat. He picked up Sherlock the best he could and dragged him into the bathroom. He stripped Sherlock down to nothing, the detective protesting weakly the whole time. John dumped Sherlock in the bath and cleaned him, making sure to not touch his bare skin for more than a few seconds, every time he did, a fire lit in Sherlock's eyes, and John was afraid of what that meant. John pulled Sherlock to a shaky standing, and towelled him off, and then Sherlock fell over. Kind of. Sherlock's upper body collapsed downwards, and his head hit John's shoulder. John's hands scrabbled at Sherlock's torso, his hips, anything to try and keep the taller man standing, but Sherlock wasn't in danger of falling. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's waist, and pulled John, bodily, to him. Sherlock seemed to wrap his long body around John, engulfing him. John found lips on his and fingers clawing at the front of his shirt and chest. John was going to pull away. He had every intention to pull away. He was just helping his friend after all, his friend wasn't himself, Sherlock didn't know what he was doing. 

"I do too." Sherlock mumbled, scooping John in and carrying him to bed. 

"What?"

"I know what I'm doing. I'm taking you to my room, to fuck you until you can't walk. I am aware of what is happening and as you haven't pushed me away yet I am continuing it." Sherlock dumped John onto his bed, and knelt near his feet. The doctor jacked himself up on his elbows to better be able to see Sherlock. Sherlock crawled up John, straddling him. 

"Push me away John." It was a challenge. Sherlock ran his fingers up John's clothed inner thighs. John shivered. "Push me away." Fingers ran up John's sides, threw off his shirt and found the muscles in his chest. "Push me away. Show me you don't want me." A tounge replaced the fingers, it traced the grooves of his chest, and found his right nipple. Sherlock lavished his tounge on John's nipple, fingers teasing the other. John moaned in pleasure, and nearly screamed with it when Sherlock's teeth gently grazed the aching nub. Sherlock glided back down John's body to his clothed erection, and Sherlock bit down on John's lower stomach as he undid John's trousers. Sherlock palmed John through his trousers. 

"Push me away. Tell me you want Ricard Zaveri more than you want me." It came out almost as a plea, but John could not respond. Sherlock pulled his pants down, licking up John's member. John was approaching the end. Whatever Sherlock was doing with his mouth was amazing. Sherlock raised his head, and looked at John, pupils wide with lust. "I've changed my mind." John's heart hit his toes. Sherlock didn't want him. "You're fucking me." John was dumbfounded. Sherlock produced lube from who knows where and began preparing himself. Sherlock's eyes were closed, concentrating. 

"Let me see." It barely came out, a broken plea from someone so far gone that reason had been replaced with lust. Sherlock turned around, showing John his fingers working himself open. Sherlock slicked John with one hand, and Sherlock lined them up. "No." John's voice was hoarse. Sherlock looked back at him, fear in his eyes. John turned Sherlock around, and then pushed into him. "Like this. I want to see you." Sherlock fucked himself on John's cock, seating himself against John's thighs and then pulling away until only the tip was in. Sherlock adjusted the angle, and moaned John's name. John came from the sound, without enough warning to tell Sherlock to pull off. Sherlock jacked himself off, John's softening, over sensitive cock still in his arse. Sherlock's semen splattered over John's stomach, and Sherlock pulled off of John. Sherlock leaned forward, making eye contact for a second, and then lapped at John's chest, cleaning it. John made like his was going to move, and Sherlock bit down on John's pectoral muscle. Sherlock crawled up John lazily, pushed John's trousers and pants the rest of the way off, and wrapped himself around John. John let himself fall asleep in the detective's arms. They would have to talk. Discuss things. But that could wait. Why not just enjoy a few precious hours? If this was his last time with Sherlock, as it may be considering he'd just gone on a date with Ricard, he wanted to enjoy it, every second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Logical part of my brain: John should put him to bed, have a strict conversation with him in the morning...  
> Devil on my shoulder: smut!  
> Logical: what?  
> Illogical part of my brain: YESSSSSS
> 
> There will be words next chapter. Serious scary words. It will (hopefully) be up soon (within a month this time). As always, 'til then my lovelies!


End file.
